(I) Follow Your Dreams

Where shall we begin our story tonight, or should I say, where will you start your journey before I take control? We haven’t spent any time together for several weeks now, so I’m sure you think you’re finally getting rid of me, but that’s far from the truth. No, I haven’t forgotten about you, I’ve just been visiting my other clients. We Dream Walkers have many talents, but we can only interact with one person at a time. Tonight, it’s your turn.

I see we’re back in the same house you lived in as a child. How old are you tonight, Michael, seven, maybe eight? You look so happy, playing in your room with the Lionel model train set you got for Christmas. Someone is coming up the stairs and enters your bedroom to play with you. You’re all smiles, eager to show him the new track layout you’ve designed. He smiles and commends you on the ingenious way you’ve wound the track under the bed and around the furniture. A feeling of pride courses through you. It’s not every day your father gives you such a glowing compliment.

This is where I take over and show you what really happened. You’re focusing with all your might on laying out the train track, trying to block out the incessant yelling coming from the kitchen. The sound of a plate crashing to the floor is immediately followed by the crack of a loud slap. Next, your mother lets out a wail, and the house vibrates from the back door being slammed. Which parent has left, who has stayed behind? It really doesn’t matter. When this happens, you don’t want to be with either one.

Moments later, your father flings open the bedroom door, slamming it into the wall. He smells of whiskey and cigarettes, a stench that permeates every inch of the room. The potbellied middle-aged man looks down at you with disdain and wants to know why you’re wasting your time with that nonsense and, with one swing of his foot, destroys everything you’ve put together. Anger races through every fiber of your being, and all you want to do is pummel him into the ground, but you're eight, so instead you hide under the bed.

I think this is a good time to fast-forward eleven years. It’s December 23rd, and you’re home on Christmas leave from the Army. You haven’t visited since the day you left for basic training, and you don’t miss the place at all. The only reason coming home is even an option this year is because of a tear-filled phone call from your mother begging you to be there for the holidays. It had taken several such calls before your defensive wall collapsed, and here you are. Walking through the front door and scanning the squalid condition of the living room brought back all your feelings of disgust for the place. Seeing your father sprawled out in his overstuffed chair, dressed in a stained, untied bathrobe, dirty T-shirt, boxer shorts, and slippers, watching Fox News, revives all the hate you feel for the man.

Do I stop the dream here? No—now it’s time for the good part.

Your father looks at you with disdain, stands, and in slurred, drunken speech says, “Well, look who’s come back to mooch a free meal, it’s our little loser, Mikey the soldier boy.” He then turns to your mother, who is standing by and bellows, “His being here is on you, isn’t it?” and shoves her back into her chair.

You are past the point of self-control. Dropping your bag, you stride purposefully to where your father is standing. He sees you coming and takes a swing at your face. Your Army Ranger training kicks in and deflects his punch, delivering one of your own and crushing his larynx. The old drunk crashes to the floor, gasping for air. Within minutes, he’s dead.

At your trial, you’re shocked and dismayed as you watch your mother testify against you, claiming that you cold-bloodedly killed the love of her life.

The Klaxon is about to sound, signaling it’s time for all the inmates to wake up. This dream always affects you the same way. Your heart races and you sweat profusely, soaking your sheets. Tonight, I’ll be visiting one of your fellow inmates, but don’t worry, I’ll be back in a couple of weeks, and we can relive these events all over again.